


Better to burn out than fade away

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I have no idea what I'm doing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/703890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The first rule of dealing with werewolves is to always remember that they are stronger, faster, and more instinct-driven that you will ever be,” Chris tells Stiles seriously. “The second is knowing that in this world you and I live in, there is no such thing as fighting dirty when it comes to protecting the ones you love.”</p><p>“So, what?” Stiles asks, never able to accept anything at face value. “I have your permission to yank someone’s hair if I have to?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better to burn out than fade away

**Author's Note:**

> Don't shoot. This is not my regular pairing (Is it anyone's?), and yet it would not leave me alone until it was written.
> 
> The title for this comes from Def Leppard's _Rock of Ages_.

It starts with shooting practice.

Nothing romantic about that, right? Especially not under the constantly watchful eyes of his alpha and best friend, Scott McCall (and if it’s still a little hard to grasp the fact that somewhere along the line, his dopey best friend gained the drive and the skills to become a true leader, to make things happen, no one else needs to know; more often than not, though, Stiles is still the one who makes the plans and guides them through all the steps, so his world still mostly makes sense).

Except that Stiles is already a good shot. Really, really good, if truth be told - yet not, in fact, because of his father, as most would and often do assume, but because of his mother. His mother who was brave and beautiful and always taught Stiles to look after himself, to never let himself become a victim. So when he asks to train with Chris Argent, it is with his mother in mind, and the bruises from the same man’s father still vibrant upon his livid skin.

Their first lesson is mostly spent feeling each other out, trying to discover if they even can work together, if they are capable of the give and take necessary to a teacher and his pupil. “The first rule of dealing with werewolves is to always remember that they are stronger, faster, and more instinct-driven than you will ever be,” Chris tells Stiles seriously. “The second is knowing that in this world you and I live in, there is no such thing as fighting dirty when it comes to protecting the ones you love.”

“So, what?” Stiles asks, never able to accept anything at face value. “I have your permission to yank someone’s hair if I have to?”

Chris stares at him implacably and agrees. “If that’s what it takes, then that’s what it takes. And if you get a clear shot at your enemy’s groin, I suggest you take it. You can have a crisis over what that means for your masculinity later.”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles says, shrugging and furrowing his brow a little as he takes it all in and squints against the effusive light of the summer sun. “So, what’s rule number three?”

“No one is ever ‘safe’ from the supernatural.”

A grin blooms on Stiles’s face, and he tries to hold off an appreciative, if slightly mocking, laugh. “That’s very Sarah Connor of you. Is the next thing out of your mouth going to be that ‘there is no fate but what we make’?” He loses the battle against his laughter for a moment before he calms and says, still snickering a little, “Sorry, sorry. I’m taking this seriously, Chris, totally, I swear.”

True to his word, Stiles buckles down and starts to focus, though he does try to lighten the mood every once in awhile. He figures Chris could use a bit of levity in his life; the man is far, far too serious. In return, the Hunter does his best to take his pupil’s sense of humor with equanimity. After all, he is not training the boy to become another Hunter. He is training him to survive. If whistling in the dark is one of the ways Stiles copes with the dangerous world they both live in, then Chris does not wish to take away whatever relief comes from it.

It only takes a few sessions for the two of them to agree that the little range in the backyard of the Argent household is simply not enough to hone his skills, and they arrange for the two of them to meet secretly in the woods, in territory that is neutral in the cold war between the Hunters and the werewolves of Beacon Hills. The others believe that Stiles is receiving special lessons from Deaton, and this is true, up to a point. He meets with the man who is so much more than a mild-mannered veterinarian twice a week, learning about herb lore and elements and wards and the best ways to exercise all his considerable will for the good of both Scott and Derek’s packs.

He meets with Chris every other day of the week. They grow easy with each other, comfortable in the knowledge that they are two humans embroiled in a world far more complex and dangerous than anything the rest of their small community could ever imagine, and when it is just the two of them, they can be real, can be themselves. It helps to have someone to touch base with, to stay grounded, when everyone around them is still reeling from the chaos and destruction of the last few months, when they’re still working towards recovery themselves.

Not long after their new arrangement, Stiles feels the need to do something more, to engage both his body and his mind more thoroughly.

Chris starts training him in hand to hand combat.

No.

No, that isn’t how it goes.

Chris starts putting him through Hunter boot camp. For the first few weeks, his body absolutely hates him, because nothing - not even Finstock’s ridiculous suicide runs - could have prepared him for this. Stiles wasn’t out of shape before they began that lovely interlude of hell, but by the time the third week rolled around, all of his muscles are more defined, his endurance noticeably improving.

In between making him want to sleep forever and a day, Chris teaches Stiles how to be silent. Not to encourage reticence, not to isolate him, but to make himself harder to track, harder to oppose. If the enemy cannot observe you, then he cannot come to know you in time to counter any decisions you might make. For the first time, Stiles learns how to use his hyper-awareness to his benefit, focusing on maintaining control over his reactions and staying in tune with his environment, whether in the forest or the grocery store or in his own home.

It almost comes as a shock when they finally begin incorporating self-defense into their regimen, they spend so long building up to it. School has already started up again for the fall semester, and so Stiles takes advantage of that, signing up for gymnastics since it is the off-season for lacrosse. His dad gives him a few searching looks when he hears about the seemingly random scheduling choice, concerned about his typical lack of grace, but is prouder than any other parent present (as well as incredibly relieved, and Stiles would be insulted by the lack of faith if he didn’t understand where his dad is coming from all too well), when Stiles earns second place at the first meet of the season. (Somewhere in the gym, Chris is also watching, and also proud. Stiles knows because he can feel the weight of it in his spine, in the space between his shoulders, at the nape of his neck. And this, this is where the trouble truly starts, because yes, Chris taught him to practice constant vigilance - grimacing every time Stiles called it that - but he never intended for him to become so attuned to his presence, and he certainly never intended for it to go both ways.)

The two of them come to know each others' bodies as intimately as they know their own, learning all the little quirks and advantages that become inevitably exposed in close combat. Stiles lies awake most nights with sensory memories overloading him, everything so much more vivid than before he had such extended contact with another person, and the original intent of their exertions doesn’t even matter, because they are both simply variations on a theme; two people coming together and pushing their bodies, entwining them, catching and then releasing.

Halfway across town, Chris Argent curses himself a hundred times in a hundred different ways for being unable to forget those same moments together. He recently lost his wife and the mother of his child. Stiles is young enough to be his daughter’s little brother. In no universe are the two of them meant to be together, to feel this way.

They are playing with fire, going against the natural order of things, Hunter and pack member, father and adolescent, worldly and naive. And yet -

One night, Chris fumbles for his phone on the bedside table. He hits speed dial two and tries not to think about how recently someone else occupied that space in his contacts list. The call is accepted before the second ring can even begin. _”Chris?”_ comes the sound of Stiles’s voice, wakeful and concerned.

“Do you want to go for a run?”

There is a slight pause, and Chris knows Stiles is wondering whether or not to respond to the unspoken, _I can’t sleep_. Still, when he does reply, Stiles simply says, _“I’ll be there in fifteen.”_ He hangs up then, and Chris is left to get out of bed and pull on a pair of track pants and running shoes.

\- It’s starting to feel like now is the time to burn.


End file.
